


Meant To

by LearnedFoot



Series: Peter/Tony Ficlets and Drabbles [14]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Coming In Pants, Ficlet, Frottage, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-26 08:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20927543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: The first time Mr. Stark made Peter come in his pants from praise, it was an accident. The second time, not so much.





	Meant To

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not really doing kinktober, but if you think I’m passing up an excuse to write some random praise kink, you don’t know me at all. A sequel to [Your Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19793539), though I think it stands on its own. Originally posted [here](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/391819.html?thread=2304628107#cmt2304628107), and since cleaned up a bit.

The first time Mr. Stark made Peter come in his pants from praise, it was an accident. Peter’s ninety-nine percent sure. Well, maybe ninety-five perfect. Fine, ninety.  
  
Or maybe he’s not sure at all, because at the time he’d _also_ been ninety-nine percent sure Mr. Stark hadn’t noticed. Then things started to change. He praises Peter more, now. Not just for really good ideas, but little things.

“Smart thinking,” he says when Peter suggests a tweak to a design; “Nice work, really good,” as he practices new welding skills.  
  
And he _looks_ as he does it, staring at Peter with almost scientific observation. The first time it happened, Peter barely noticed. The second and third times he wrote it off as nothing. But it’s been weeks, and it keeps happening and he is definitely, one-hundred percent sure Mr. Stark didn’t look at him like that before The Incident. He’d remember the intensity of that stare, the way Mr. Stark’s eyes get dark and sharp.  
  
If Mr. Stark is looking to see if Peter responds to his words, he must already have his answer: yes. Of course he does. He’s started bracing every time he shows Mr. Stark his work, but that doesn’t stop the hot flush of pleasure he gets from the praise, the tingle that runs up his spine and to his face. And yet, Mr. Stark keeps doing it, so often Peter sometimes has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom and jerk off, pressing his face to the cool tile on the wall to calm down after.  
  
And then, one day, it’s different. It starts the same: a casual “good point, well done” when Peter catches an error in Mr. Stark’s calculations. But then, just as Peter is weighing if he needs to run to the bathroom for a “break,” Mr. Stark adds, “Not many people can correct my work, Pete.”  
  
“Oh,” Peter says, stupidly. He doesn’t know how to respond, not with Mr. Stark looking at him like_ that_. He has an urge to dash out of the room before the heat running through his body transforms into something embarrassing; his pants are old, a little on the tight side, not exactly good for hiding, um, _reactions_. “I mean it was a really small mistake, I’m sure anyone who gave it a second look would’ve seen it.”  
  
“No, it was a good catch.” Mr. Stark’s voice has gone lower, soft but firm. Peter feels it like a caress, shivers when Mr. Stark takes a few steps forward, leaving less than a foot between them. He smells like sweat and oil and Peter wants to bury his face in his neck. “You really are exceptional, kid. I’m not sure I’ve told you that enough. You’re extraordinary.”  
  
Peter can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? He takes a step backwards, seeking air, and bumps into a desk. The cold metal presses into his back; he clutches at it for support. “Uh, thanks?” It comes out squeaky.  
  
Mr. Stark’s eyes sweep over Peter’s body, lingering for the briefest moment at the place where his rapidly growing erection must be obvious. Fuck.  
  
“Don’t thank me, I’m just stating facts.” Mr. Stark voice is even lower now, almost a growl, and it’s unfair how sexy it is. Peter feels his dick twitch and wants to sink into the ground. There’s no way Mr. Stark missed that. But he doesn’t draw back, doesn’t twist his face in disgust. In fact, he does the opposite, closing the gap between them, leaning forward to whisper in Peter’s ear, “You’re the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Peter gasps, entire body shuddering. Mr. Stark’s breath across his face, the heat off his skin, his words—he’s achingly hard now, underwear suddenly a mess of precome. “Sir, I—”  
  
“I know.” Mr. Stark’s hand grazes his stomach, fingers dipping into the waist of his pants, pulling him forward and—_holy shit_, Mr. Stark is as hard as he is, thick and solid, pressing into Peter’s hip. “Me too.”  
  
“Oh.” Peter swallows, rocking forward just a little, rubbing himself on Mr. Stark’s thigh. It’s so much, overwhelming, impossible, _how is this happening?_ His eyes squeeze close as he tries, unsuccessfully, to maintains some composure.  
  
Mr. Stark laughs, and Peter can feel his chest rumble. “You’re adorable, kid.” His lips graze Peter’s ear. “The way you get red when I say something nice. God, you don’t know what you do to me.”  
  
Peter can’t help the jerk of his hip, the whine in his throat. He can feel the table bending in his hand he’s grasping it so hard, so close to losing it.

“What do I do?” he pants. He sounds like he’s been swinging through the city for hours, breathless and barely able to form words.  
  
“Drive me crazy.” Mr. Stark sounds breathless, too, and the realization makes Peter moan. “You’re so fucking smart, and cute, and god, this _body_.”  
  
He bares down on Peter, rubbing their cocks together with rough thrusts. Peter’s eyes roll back, his balls tighten, he’s so close—  
  
“You’re irresistible, Peter,” Mr. Stark groans into his neck. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”  
  
Peter comes with a gasp, going stiff with the pleasure of it, minding blanking out for a moment. When he regains his bearings Mr. Stark is stroking his hair, pressing kisses to the side of his face.

He lets himself be held, catching his breath, reeling, body thrumming with one very clear, very amazing, almost unbelievable, completely undeniable thought: this time, Mr. Stark definitely meant to do that.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved.


End file.
